


alien cats and comfy armpits

by orphan_account



Series: fascinus!verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aromantic Dean, Dean Smith - Freeform, Endverse Castiel - Freeform, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Multi, POV Alternating, Recreational Drug Use, Sam Wesson - Freeform, Sex Toys, Team Everyone Switches, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7805359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let it not be said that Castiel isn’t a good host. He might ply his guests with alcohol and drugs, but there is more to a good threesome besides intoxication and sweaty, deliciously toned bodies. Spur of the moment, dirty bar pick-ups are one thing. People are ready for it, looking for it. Premeditated hook ups are another thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	alien cats and comfy armpits

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the darling[Hellhoundsprey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey) who wrote the first part for this silly series and I'm madly in love with the universe she created, she was nice enough to let me play in it. Do yourself a favor and read [Three on a Match](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7787371) first. :D
> 
> Big sloppy thanks to [Silver9mm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm) for the beta. <3

“You’ll be on your best behavior for our guests, of course.”

Castiel talked to the cat sitting on his kitchen table, as he pulled a little knitted cap over the cat’s bald head. 

“They’re not our usual sorts of clients. Although, I suppose if they’re not paying, they’re not really clients.”

Tying the thin strap under the cat’s chin, Castiel gave him a scratch and kissed his forehead. The new outfit looked good on him, a bright happy blue with a floppy pom-pom on top of the cap and rows of pink hearts down the sweater that covered the cat’s body.

The cat, for his part, sat docilely with only the tip of his thin tail twitching, wide green eyes watching. 

“There you go Mr. Bootie, as dapper as ever. That’ll keep the chill out when I open the windows.”

Running a hand down the soft knitted material over the cat’s back, Castiel smiled as he arched into the contact before hopping off the table to seek mischief elsewhere in the apartment. The soft strains of ‘Flora’s Secret’ warbled through the old boombox in the living room, only separated from the kitchen by a line of counters. 

Inhaling deeply, Castiel’s toes curled on faded linoleum for how divine the bread was starting to smell. Wandering over to the oven, he crouched and peered through the window to check the bread’s progress. The oven could be a little testy. Irish soda breads were sturdy things, but you could never be too careful. 

It was a preemptive bout of baking. If he knew he would be spending the night high - which, truthfully, was most nights - Castiel liked to bake for it in advance. He had made one too many batches of cookies with the waxy wrap paper of the stick butter baked into them, and getting the yeast leavened for bread was just not a good idea high. 

Maybe, he wanted to make sure he had something nice for his guests. He did often cook a large finger-food dinner when he hosted orgies. It was polite. 

The Irish soda bread was his mother’s recipe, a comfort food favorite. 

Reassuring himself that it was browning nicely and not burning, Castiel busied himself with watering the plants. He was fussing. The spray bottle for the succulents sat on the windowsill to the kitchen, crowded in with small pots of herbs. Spritzing the dry desert plants first, Castiel made his rotations from the glass globes of succulents hanging on the curtain rods in the living room to fern plants on pedestals around the room trailing their fronds onto the wood floor, and into his bedroom where the special plants were kept behind chicken mesh wiring so the cat couldn’t get to them. 

The pets were taken care of next. Castiel refreshed the dry food in a crystal bowl that sat in the corner of the kitchen for Mr. Bootie. Momo was basking under the heat lamp in his little open corner habitat, swiveling his head up to watch Castiel put down a treat to bribe him to be on good behavior too. The chopped cucumbers and strawberries were already half gone by the time Castiel turned his back on the iguana. The Scream Triplets barely gave Castiel a glance as he checked their seed dishes by their perches in front of the plant-lined and sunny windows that ran nearly front the ceiling to the floor. Refreshing their water, the two cockatoos huffily flew somewhere else in the apartment for all the fuss Castiel raised. He changed the newspapers lining the trays he’d trained them to use for potties, and scooped Mr. Bootie’s covered box in the bathroom. 

With everyone taken care of, Castiel busied himself dusting. He needed to keep his hands occupied, and more often than not knitting was his go-to, but with guests on the way he tidied. Took the bread out of the oven to cool. Made sure lube was in reach in the bedroom and the sheets didn’t smell funny. Padding from one end of the apartment to the other, Castiel had everything in order when there was a loud - excited, he would like to think - knock at the front door. 

He had forgotten one thing. Pants. 

-

Sam had been in a few threesomes in his life. Not like, long-term threeway relationships, but sex threesomes. He’d done his fair share of couch surfing fresh out of high school before finding a permanent job and a roommate. He certainly didn’t mind exchanging sex for room and board, with his good friends. But he was a little more mature - he liked to think - and he actually, seriously wanted to pursue a relationship with Dean.

With his boss. 

Mr. Smith. 

Ok maybe he wasn’t that mature. 

But he still never expected that whatever they were, would take a turn like this. Seeing his prim, stern boss all teary eyed with pink-flushed cheeks on his knees begging for Sam’s cock, that was a surprise. Picking up a stranger at a bar and bringing him back to Sam’s apartment for a threesome. Definitely another surprise. Actually exchanging numbers with the guy and driving to his place for, well probably just sex. Still a surprise. 

There were a lot of things Sam didn’t know about Dean, but he was having fun finding out. 

And Castiel? Cas was strange. He was like, a shiny new toy at this point. He was weird and didn’t seem to get social cues much, but he could be a smooth motherfucker, and he had a bit of a bad boy vibe going with the tattoos and - once you got his pants off - piercings. 

Apparently, Cas lived in a pretty run-down part of town. The address he gave was a tall apartment building wedged between a bodega and a store with boarded windows. The parking lot in the back was a pot-holed mess that didn’t actually have any parking lines painted on it. It wasn’t like Sam lived in an upscale place - not like Dean’s downtown condo - but the area was sketchy. 

“Hey, leave the door unlocked,” he told Dean as he put the car into park and started towards the back door of the building.

“What? Are you crazy?” Dean had to work to keep up with his long stride. 

Sam flashed him a disarming grin, “Yeah, there’s nothing valuable in there, if the doors are unlocked the windows won’t get smashed.”

Dean frowned at him, but Sam just held the door open. God, his ass looked so good going up the stairs in jeans. Dean was still wearing a neat-pressed white button down. He didn’t own much casual wear. Sam used to be a little self conscious about his thin worn shirts that usually had a few holes in the hem or the collar. Part of Sam’s inability to let a shirt go was sentimentality, part of it was practicality. Dean didn’t mind, although he had bought Sam some nicer things - suits that actually fit, fashionable ties - for when they went to more upscale places. If Dean could be comfortable with beer and pizza on Sam’s curbside find couch, Sam could be comfortable when Dean wanted to spoil him. He kind of felt like arm candy sometimes, and he kind of really liked it. 

But this was new territory for them. Standing tall and straight next to Sam, Dean had an austere almost frown on his face until Cas opened his door. The guy was still pulling jeans up, shirtless, wide smile on his face that made the crows feet around his eyes stand out. 

“Hey, come on in, mi casa es su casa and all that.”

Sam shut the door behind him and tried not to gape like a kid. Cas’ apartment was freaking cool. 

-

Dean wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t tense. He wasn’t some wilting flower that Sam might have thought he was. Maybe he wasn’t used to this kind of thing - open relationships or whatever they had, the kind of neighborhood Cas lived in, the drug paraphernalia on every flat surface - but that didn’t mean it scared him. 

He had been more scared of starting something with Sam in the first place, than wherever it was they had ended up. Dean didn’t really do long term relationships. He was a busy, successful upper management man in a Fortune 500 company, he normally worked so much over time he ended up clocking in eighty hours a week. A lot of people wanted constant reassurance in a relationship, wanted to feel like the center of your universe. Dean didn’t have the time for that. Sure, Sam might coax him into some very indecent activities during work hours - Dean couldn’t say no to those puppy dog eyes or the wag of his dick - but Sam also knew when to give Dean space. 

Maybe Dean had wanted to fuck his subordinate, but it wasn’t ‘office romance’ he was wary of. He couldn’t really leave Sam behind if they worked together. One night stands were easy. Love ‘em and leave ‘em.

Sam didn’t take ‘no’ too well, and Dean was frustratingly happy in giving in to him and saying ‘yes’. He just didn’t know what he was saying yes to at first. They were both probably making it up. Sam was all kinds of fidgety and too-sweaty in Dean’s comfortable - mildly luxurious - environment. It was almost cute. So it was a two way street. 

Or, a threeway street?

When Dean had wanted to pick Cas up, spice things up between him and Sam, he had thought it would be the usual one-night stand sort of scenario. Walk of shame in the morning, don’t let the door hit you on the way out, buddy. But then Sam and Cas hit it off. Traded numbers. They were both way too good at reducing Dean to a puddle of tears and sweat on his back - knees, against the wall, on the table. 

It’s not like Dean’s never done stuff like this before. He’s smoked pot. He experimented in college. He used to be young. But he’s pushing thirty now, and he’s pretty sure Cas has passed that mile mark, but they’re all hanging out like teenagers with not a care in the world passing around a bong and gossiping. 

It’s kind of surreal. 

But the marijuana Cas has got is awesome. 

It’s been years for Dean, and what meager college stash his dorm-mate used to scrounge up hardly did much for Dean but give him the giggles, get him randy. This stuff. This is a different league. 

Cas’ apartment is a little cluttered - open floor plan, bookshelves lining the walls stacked with books, statuettes, little baskets of craft supplies, bongs. Plants block out the window. There are freaking birds flying around and that spooked Dean at first but they’re just sitting on perches now, watching. There’s a lizard in the corner in some kind of thing that looks like a litter pan but it’s filled with sand and flat rocks and jesus shouldn’t that thing be in a tank. Creepy pets aside, something smells wonderful, fresh baked bread under the heady smell of weed. 

Nursing the bong - because Dean liked that best, it was smoother - he sits on one end of a futon that dips towards the middle and is draped in tie-dyed blankets. Cas has crawled into Sam’s lap. They’re sharing a joint, kissing, arms wrapped around each other. Dean’s content to watch. He always feels so small in Sam’s hands, broad and hot and they fit so perfect across Dean’s ass. It’s interesting to watch them slide down Cas’ back, frame his hips. 

Dean knows they’re trying to get a reaction out of him. 

Cradling the large bong - it’s a work of art, really, green and blue swirled glass that twists around itself - Dean is perfectly happy where he sits. 

There’s an alien on the coffee table. 

Large unblinking eyes watch him and it looks like a cat but it’s wearing a sweater and Dean knows that hallucinations don’t work like this but what the shit is that. 

Cas breaks away from Sam’s mouth, smoke swirling between them. “Oh, that’s Mr Bootie. Say hi.”

Dean was not aware he had spoken out-loud. “Mr Bootie?”

It’s tail twitches. It’s rat-like, slim, hairless tail.

Sam is still squeezing Cas’ ass, giggling. 

Cas slides off Sam, limbs dripping slow-like and splaying out on the futon next to Dean. “Yes.”

“Dude, I’m allergic to cats.” Dean cringes back, but the slope of the futon sends him gravitationally towards Cas’ side. 

“It’s ok, Mr. Bootie is a hypoallergenic cat. No hair means no dander. He’s a friendly little guy too, aren’t you Mr. Bootie?”

Reaching out, Cas scratches under the cat’s chin and the cat turns into it, butting his head into Cas’ palm. The little pom-pom topped hat gets knocked aside. Seriously, it looks like an alien. No fur, skin pulling and wrinkling, its face angular and sharp. 

“It looks like a shaved ball-sac.”

Dean is mildly horrified. He doesn’t get along well with cats. Dander or no. 

Sam’s giggling continues into fevered lunatic territory. 

“You know,” Cas leans forward and pulls his hand over the cat’s head, skin drawing taut, before letting go and it all falls back into a wrinkled mess. The cat just sits there. “He kind of does.”

-

Let it not be said that Castiel isn’t a good host. He might ply his guests with alcohol and drugs, but there is more to a good threesome besides intoxication and sweaty, deliciously toned bodies. Spur of the moment, dirty bar pick-ups are one thing. People are ready for it, looking for it. Premeditated hook ups are another thing. 

They’ve got all night to themselves. 

And, as Castiel had thought, these two are certainly a challenge. 

The RISK board spread across his coffee table is blotted with thick clumps of little colored army men, and Castiel is worried about the cards that Dean is holding. Sam is a more laid back player, more prone to making mistakes because he believes in having fun with the game. Dean - even stoned to the point of swaying where he sits - takes it very very seriously. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!”

“Ooooh, tough break on the dice,” Cas tuts, consolingly, before sweeping into his newly conquered territory.

Mr Bootie is happily curled in Sam’s lap, bare head pressed to his warm belly, and Sam seems rather smitten with the little sweater Cas knitted for the cat. The scene of the two of them is what one might call adorable. Cas has the sudden urge to knit a matching sweater for Sam. 

They’ve decimated the sweet, dense soda bread, slathered with an entire stick of butter between them, artisan beers from the fridge that Cas bought entirely on a hunch strewing the floor around them. It took a little convincing and some grumbling about a ruined cleanse to get Dean to have some bread. The pornographic sounds he made eating it were definitely worth the cajoling. 

Ok. Maybe RISK is too time consuming when all Cas wants to do is get in their pants. So maybe Cas throws the game on purpose. Well, he doesn’t really ‘throw it’. It’s a strategic decision, to optimize the results of the night. The lights in the living room need to be turned out soon anyway, so the birds can sleep and the neighbors won’t complain about the squawking. 

Hey, sex noises are different from screechy bird noises, and Castiel suspects that his neighbor Ms. Miller enjoys the sex kind of noises. 

So he loses a few countries, and lets a continent slip, and Sam is more concerned with inhaling crumbs and petting the cat. Congratulations are in order when Dean wins. 

Crawling around the water-ringed coffee table - Castiel doesn’t believe in coasters - he is more than content to kneel in front of Dean’s lap, Sam boxing in Dean from behind. 

“So, you didn’t just come here for smoke and company?”

Dean, admirably for his part - smirks. “No.”

And Sam is busy already, arms circling Dean’s chest and deft fingers flicking open the buttons of his shirt. Mr Bootie has gone somewhere else. Cas’ mouth is dry and his dick is hard in his jeans, everything wavering just a little, like there’s a thrumming vibration to the world but it’s probably just his eyeballs being restless. 

The outline of Dean’s cock strains against his jeans and Cas can’t resist nuzzling against it, denim soft worn. 

“We should take this to the bedroom, let the birds sleep.”

-

Sam’s never really heard of playing board games as foreplay, but weirdly enough it kind of got Dean riled up. 

The living room was vacated, lights turned off, and they all stumbled down a short hallway to Cas’ bedroom. There are no doors in his apartment. Something about safety concerns. His bedroom’s got black out curtains across the windows, stark shadows cast around from the lights hovering above a little bed of marijuana plants in the corner. The lamps hum, a low buzzing noise, in the spaces between heavy breathing and rustling clothes. 

There’s a little twinge of jealousy beneath Sam’s breastbone. It took him months to get Dean’s attention, even longer to get Dean’s dick, and even longer still to get Dean to stay the night with him. Sam’s gotta admit, it’s really hot watching Dean suck off another guy. He can tell himself all he wants that rationally, Dean was never really his in the first place. Dean seems to be more of the emotionally detached short-term kind of guy. But, he’s still around. And whatever it is they’re doing, they’re doing it together. Cas is an easy-going presence, a low pressure free-love sort. Sam is alright that Dean wants Cas, because Sam wants Cas too, and Cas wants both of them. So it’s ok. And fuck but Dean looks so pretty with his head hanging off the edge of Cas’ bed - sheets a pastel pink and dotted with daisies - and he sounds even better choking on dick.

Sam yanks his jeans down. Pets over the soft hairs of Dean’s thighs. Jesus, he’s so soft. Sam was gonna do something, something important, get something inside that uptight-ass of Dean’s, but he’s too busy dragging the sharp stubble of his cheek down Dean’s thighs. 

Cas’ skin almost looks sallow in the weird sort of light the grow lamps generate. The blocky shapes of letters that follow the lines of his ribs like college-ruled notebook paper shift with his breath. Angular. Cas said they were for protection, or something, a prayer. They’re pretty. They suit him. Simple, foreign. Of course, there’s a brightly colored Road Runner on the inside of Cas’ thigh and that just makes Sam laugh. 

He is, isn’t he. Mouth right next to Dean’s twitching dick, one broad hand across the trembling expanse of a smooth belly, Sam’s laugh-snorting like an idiot. He feels a little loose, a little cotton stuffed, like a doll maybe, light and floaty and it’s good. 

What’s even better is the taste of Dean’s cock. The way his hips rock up, desperate and greedy. Something taps Sam’s cheek, Cas curled over Dean’s body and trying to pass him something. 

“You want in first?”

Cas has still got his cock in Dean’s mouth and he’s asking which one of them’s gonna take that ass first. 

Sam snatches the bottle of lube, slicks his hands and he’s a little messy, getting the sheets wet with it. Dean lifts a toned leg up to bend over Sam’s shoulder and it’s so easy to stretch out on his stomach - legs hanging off the end - his fingers in Dean’s ass and mouth on that beautiful cock while Cas fucks Dean’s face and tells him what a good boy he is. 

-

Dean gasps for air when Cas lets up. Throat stretched out taut, jaw aching. There’s spit dripping down into his eyes and he’s got them shut against it. Doesn’t see. Feels hands on his hips flipping him over. Hands on his shoulders pushing him up. Slender fingers swipe across his eyes and Dean blinks them open. 

Cas smiles at him, beams, blue eyes bright and teeth floating in the messy dark mass of his almost beard. 

“Such a good boy. Our pretty boy.”

Crawling onto the bed, Cas eases him up until Dean’s straddling Sam’s hard thighs and laying back across that broad chest. Sam huffs and palms his ass, eases him down, splits him open. Dean can feel the breath, the hesitation, the the jack-rabbit pulse of Sam’s heart. Cas’ hands slide down Dean’s chest, wrap around his cock. Taking a deep breath, Dean drops down. 

He needs this - craves this. It’s so hard to let go of control, in anything, in his daily routine, in his work, in his life twenty-four-seven. Sam can overpower him, overwhelm him. Shit, being teamed up on by another guy only makes it more acutely obvious. Dean yields to it. Let’s them give him the things he doesn’t feel he can take for himself. 

One hand clasped over Sam’s forearm that’s braced across his belly, Dean reaches for Cas with the other, bumps against his face, tugs his hair, pulls him in for a kiss. Sam mouths at the back of Dean’s neck, teeth scraping light and he shivers. Body thrumming with the tight stretched heat of his ass, shit, Sam could make him weep that a cock like that exists. Has, on a few occasions. 

Cas opens to his kiss, switches so easy between being controlling and being controlled. Whimpers when Dean bites at the swell of his lower lip. Cas’ hands brace over his thighs and they bump noses when Sam snaps his hips up to fuck Dean with a deep-drag of his dick. 

Clenching his hand in Cas’ hair, Dean pushes him. Cas’ eyes don’t lose his as he goes down, shifting back on the bed to bend forward and catch Dean’s cock in his mouth. Eyes rolling back. Dean holds on, caught between them. He feels dirty like this, easy, cheap. A far cry from his carefully cultivated reputation. It thrills him, fever sweeping under his skin and burning him up. Dick rubbing over the rough hair on Cas’ cheeks, Dean nudges forward a few times before he manages to get inside that slick sin pretty mouth. 

Sam bites, on the curve of his shoulder where a bruise won’t show. Holds him tight enough to squash his breath out. Fucks him forward into Cas’ mouth. Dean rocks between them, loses the rhythm in his neediness, lets his body go lax and Sam makes it all work. A hand folds over Dean’s against the back of Cas’ head and Sam works him, see-saw. Cas, for his part, moans around Dean, shifts to drop onto an elbow and work a hand beneath himself. 

They could wreck him. Dean gets the feeling Cas would smile and ask if he could give them more. 

-

There are many things in life for a sensual hedonist to enjoy. Sexual intimacy isn’t merely a means to pleasure. It’s a journey of connection, a profound exchange of shared vulnerability and bodily fluids.

While this is all something Castiel believes sincerely, there is one very simple truth that consumes his present situation. 

Castiel loves the act of giving oral pleasure. He loves sucking cock.

Weight rested on one elbow, dropped down but the angle is better anyway, Castiel strokes himself slowly and completely gives himself to Dean, for Dean’s use. Spit dripping down his chin, tongue pushing up at the back of his throat when his gag reflex rears up, Castiel wobbles on the soft mattress top with his knees precariously close to the edge. He fears he might slide off, one good hard shove of Sam’s hips all that’s needed, but he can feel Dean’s cock swell in his mouth, just a little harder, right there, and he’s intent on staying where he is and swallowing it all. 

He’s let his beard go a bit long in his absentmindedness and a facial would be too messy to be worth it. 

Dean’s fingers tighten in his hair, litany of gasped praises and pleading, hips frantic as they twitch between Cas’ mouth and the wall of muscle behind him that’s fucking him senseless. Abandoning his own cock, Castiel drags his hand up to squeeze Dean’s thigh, silent approval, appreciating the flex of muscle trembling as he climaxes. Dean is pretty in the sort of way that probably gets him in all kinds of trouble, and Cas can’t bring himself to feel too bad about that when he gets to bask in it. 

Salty on his tongue, he’s too sloppy and blissed-out high to swallow it all neatly. Sam pulls Dean against himself, huge hands bracketing those lovely hips, and holds him still. Cas cradles Dean on his tongue, savoring. It’s hot and humid in his room, reeks of sex, reminds him of the trapped sun-heat in greenhouses steamy with mist and breath, teeming with life energy. When Dean pulls Cas off, whimpering, he rests his sweaty forehead in the crease of Dean’s hip. 

“God, you look good like that.”

Smiling up, Cas sees Sam’s chin hooked over Dean’s broad shoulder, watching him. 

Dean sags, sinking lower, Sam’s cock poking out from behind his balls and Cas’ can’t resist licking the head. Sam gets a hand in his hair, too, pulls him up and Cas shuffles forward on the bed.

“I kind of want to fuck you, but I kind of want to get fucked by you too.”

“We could always have another round in an hour.” 

Cas whines when Dean brushes the pads of his fingers across a nipple, rests his head and his breath and his lips all over the swoop of Cas’ shoulder. Cas had wanted a go at him after Sam, but, plans change and he is a flexible man - in every way. 

Sam whines like an impatient boy, mouth busy on Dean’s neck like he can’t make a decision what kind of candy he wants. 

Cas brings a hand indolently to the warm smooth skin of Dean’s side, dipping between his and Sam’s body, knuckles brushing sculpted abs as his fingers tease the plush dip of Dean’s ass. “Although,” he muses, “I could think of a way you could have both. Sort of.”

Sam huffs and jerks his head to toss hair out of his eyes as he leans over Dean’s shoulder to kiss at Cas’ cheek, tempt his lips to move a little, lick inside. Dean manages to slide out from between them and flop back on the bed. 

“What do you want to do to me, Cas?” Sam asks, between nibbles. 

Getting two palmfuls of that decadent backside, Cas ruts against Sam’s front, erection one hot rock-hard line and yeah, he knows what he wants. 

“Give me just a second,” Cas tells him, tearing himself away to slip off the bed and rifle through a dresser drawer.

-

Sam feels weakly sluggish, has only smoked erratically in the past few years. He’s still sure he could nail Cas to the wall if that’s what he wants. Dean looks relaxed and content, sprawling across the mattress like the whole thing is his. Nudging one of his legs aside, Sam lays beside him, spreads a hand across his near-flat stomach and watches Cas doing whatever it is that he’s doing. 

Pausing to bend over the nightstand for the lube again, Sam kind of thinks it’s adorable how the slight pudge of Cas’ belly makes three little rolls and the sides of his toned ass has dimples when he flexes. 

Cas is rolling a condom over a small, black, bulbous butt plug and things click into place for Sam. “Ooooh.”

Kneeling on the bed, Cas crawls over Dean and him, settles behind Sam, drags slicked fingers between his legs and teases at his rim. 

“You’re smart, Cas.” Sam says, because it seems like a nice thing to say, and Cas really is. 

That earns him a laugh, Cas pressing the wide pad of his thumb inside as his beard tickles between Sam’s shoulder blades. The toy looks kind of small, Cas only pulling his thumb against the tight muscle to tease before popping it in. It’s nowhere near as nice as riding Cas’ dick would be, but the little extra kick, the flex of his rim when he clenches, that’s nice. 

Then Cas fiddles with something and a strong vibration shocks through the toy and Sam damn near comes because his cock is riding Dean’s sweat slick hip and goddamn. 

Dean pinches his nipple, cruelly. “Wanna see him ride you, Sammy.”

That sounds like a good plan. Excellent plan. Dean is really smart too. 

Rolling onto his back, Sam loops an arm around Cas’ waist and hauls him over Sam’s body. Cas tries to turn into it, ends up sliding over the other side and bumping against Dean as the bed sways, knees Sam dangerously close to his junk, before getting straddled over his lap. 

Bracing a hand on Sam’s chest, Cas huffs and snorts, “That could of, uh, gone smoother.”

Dean curls on his side and taps his fingers down Sam’s stomach, wraps a hand around Cas’ cock. Sam almost grabs Cas’ hips and shoves up into him, but Cas is twisted around a little, hand behind his back, fingering himself open, and Sam’s just a little out of his mind but yeah, Cas is good. Sam blinks at the condom square that Cas tosses on his chest, and remembers he needs to change the one he was using with Dean. Right. Smart people. 

Cas flashes a wicked grin when he grips Sam’s cock around the base, actually fucking winks at the two of them, and drops down. 

-

Settled flush to Sam’s laps and rolling his hips in a neat little swivel, the way Cas’ body curls and stretches is mesmerizing. Sweat drips from the dip of his clavicle down the flat of toned chest, sparse hair trailing to his navel where it thickens, wildly curly around his cock. Sam’s hand overlaps Dean’s, both jerking Cas off with no real rhythm or steadiness. Dean likes how the two barbells on the underside of his cock feel when the skin drags over them, stretches taut. Can’t keep his fingers from plucking and rolling the jewelry, but every time he does Cas groans and there’s more pearlescent pre-come beading from his cockhead. 

“Shit, m’gonna, Cas…” Sam flounders when he’s on the edge, body tense as a board, face going through a paroxysm of expression. 

“Come on, Sam, come on.”

Shaking the bed hard enough it skitters back and forth on the floor, Cas slams himself onto Sam so enthusiastically Dean’s pretty sure they’re both gonna have bruises. Sam’s got one arm under Dean’s head, holding him close, fingers digging in to his shoulder when Sam comes and Cas keeps on riding his cock. 

Dean knows how hard Sam stays for a few minutes after, how nice it is to be loose and satisfied sitting on that just basking while they catch their breath. Cas is not quite there yet. Has one hand splayed over Sam’s heaving chest and one hand circled around Dean’s forearm. Cock red and branding hot in his palm. 

Every now and then, Dean has to lean his head to the side to get a kiss from Sam. Has to. His mouth is drugging, lazy curl of his tongue into Dean, pleased huffs of warms breath and the shape of his smile beneath Dean’s lips. Can’t seem to stay in one place though. They kiss, and part, watch Cas, erratically slide their hands over his cock while he whines and grinds on Sam’s softening dick. 

Finally, Sam’s hand shifts down further to knead Cas’ sac while Dean gets a good squeeze and rub around the piercings. A few repetitions, and Cas startles, comes wetly all up Sam’s belly to his chin, Cas’ stomach sucked in and his thighs quivering. With a groan, protracted and scratchy-rough, Cas collapses on top of Sam. Sam, for his part, does not seem to mind.

Coming down from an orgasm, show over, Dean starts to scoot a little away. It’s muggy-hot, perspiration clinging to his skin stickily. Sam and Cas seem to have different plans. Cas rolls entirely off Sam and the bed, picks a shirt off the floor and swipes his front before passing it to Sam. Accepts the tied off condom Sam exchanges him, then tosses it in a wastebasket. Cas puts a hand on Sam’s thigh to press it wide and slowly takes the toy out, Sam exhaling shaky. Then to Dean’s mortification, Cas climbs back into bed on the other side of him, trapping him between the two of them. 

“Ungh,” Dean manages. “Too hot.”

Sam’s heavy arm flings across him and pins him. “Snuggles.”

Dean squirms, and Cas throws a leg over his thigh. “Mm. Snuggles.”

Exhausted, brain still static white-noise, Dean burrows. Finds himself pulled flush to Sam’s side, Cas’ hands idly stroking down his hip, eyes drooping sleep-weighted. There’s a slight disturbance, and an insistent meow. Cas sits up, and Dean’s eyes open. He realizes that he has his face buried in Sam’s pit. This should be disgusting. It smells wonderful, though - somehow, heady and earthy - it’s a very nice, perfectly spaced divot to rest in. 

“Ah, Mr. Bootie, I’m sorry I knocked your cap off.”

Over the tangle of his and Sam’s legs, Dean watches Cas carefully tie the little pom-pom hat back on his freaky alien-cat’s head. He’s too tired to deal with this. He’s got mountains of take-home file work to deal with tomorrow. He’s got to be up bright and early to drag Sam out of bed and take him home. Alien cats and comfy armpits do not register on his give-a-shit meter at the moment. 

It’s kind of nice when Cas curls against his back again, and weaves his arm into Sam’s overtop of Dean like a blanket. 

—-

Castiel was generally early to rise in the morning – although he did linger sometimes after a night of heavy indulgence. It would seem, though, that Dean did not need much sleep and he was only content in a messy cuddle pile for a limited amount of time post coitus. 

The shower was running, old pipes noisy as they rattled in the walls, when Castiel blinked awake. Sam was a furnace, sprawled out with limbs flung across Castiel. They had closed the gap between them when Dean had somehow stealthily wriggled out of bed without disturbing them. Well, Sam seemed like a heavy sleeper, taking the proffered blanket Castiel nudged towards him as he left the bed, curling around it and snuffling into it. His long hair was shaggy and even in the dim light seeping around the edges of the blackout curtain, Castiel could see a lovely pattern of mouth-sucked bruises across his broad shoulders. 

Momo and Mr Bootie were curled up together pressed against the mesh around the marijuana plants and soaking up the grow-lamp’s heat. As Castiel padded into the kitchen space, they both rose and followed him, Mr. Bootie yawning sleepily and begging a ride on Momo’s back. 

Castiel tossed the both of them treats before putting on the coffee pot. Dean was humming in the shower. The game board had been left out last night, carelessly in their haste bedroom-bound. The cat had decimated the board, claiming completely victor over the little plastic men of which Castiel was sure even more were now irretrievably lost wherever Mr. Bootie had dragged them. 

When the shower shut off, Castiel leaned against the counter between the kitchen and the living room, the door to the bathroom just past the opening of the hallway. Dean was wearing his button down and jeans from the previous night when he emerged, stubble on his jaw, hair spiked up wet and Castiel just bet it would dry fluffy without any product to tamp it down. 

“Good morning,” Castiel called.

Dean swiveled around to face him. “Hey. Morning. Is Sam still asleep?”

“Mm, yes. I started coffee. What would you like for breakfast?”

“I’ve got to head out. No offense. I’m already so late I don’t have time for my workout, I have to get some work done today.”

Castiel shrugged. “There’s always work to do. You should eat, get your strength back after last night,” Castiel winked at him. An exchange of lazy morning blow jobs would be appreciated as well, of course. After breakfast. 

“No, that’s all right, I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

Frowning, Castiel moved around the counter and towards Dean. “It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“Dude, where are your pants?”

Ah, yes. “In the bedroom.”

“Yeah. I got that. Why aren’t they on you?”

At that moment, a great lumbering giant stumbled into Dean from behind, wrapping long arms around him and trapping him. Excellent. Castiel would have help keeping him for breakfast then. 

It’s not that he minded when partners or passer-throughs decided to leave in the middle of the night or before he woke up. If that was what they really wanted. But, sometimes Castiel wanted things for himself. 

Dean squirmed for a second, batted at Sam’s arm and grunted. It didn’t take long for him to concede defeat as Sam kissed along his neck. Yawning, Sam blinked at Castiel, eyes shifting in the bright sunlight coming through the living room windows, green and brown and gold and magic. 

“Morning, Cas.”

“Good morning,” he replied cheerfully, “I was just trying to convince Dean to stay for breakfast.”

“Good luck.” Sam rolled his eyes. 

“How about eggs, eggs are good for you.”

Dean sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “Great, now I’ve got two of you ganging up on me.” Leaning back, he twisted around to peck Sam on the cheek. “Egg whites, half an hour.”

Sam beamed. “Hey, I’m your ride anyway. You got any sausage Cas? Or bacon?”

Turning back towards the kitchen, Castiel patted the cockatoos who had fluttered over from their perch to clack their talons on the counter and demand his attention. Retrieving three mugs from the cupboard to set next to the coffee pot, he then rifled through the fridge.

“Do you like turkey sausage?”

When he looked over his shoulder to see Sam hungrily eyeing his ass, Castiel knew it would be a good morning indeed.


End file.
